Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: spiritual decay

  • A Critique Of Aesthetic And Social Conformity

    A Critique Of Aesthetic And Social Conformity

    I want to write, I want to write.
    This is my polemic against the homogenization of society.

    This aesthetic conformity goes beyond skin deep — it spills over into the social, cultural, and intellectual realms. It threatens individuality, our freedom to see ourselves as autonomous, independent beings — detached from others’ thoughts.

    It threatens our ability to oppose the current, to resist the hegemony that wants us all to be the same: the same face, the same body, even the same mind.

    From external appearance to inner thought, this wave of sameness erases difference and silences dissent.

    I refuse to conform, to become one of the many plastic dolls with the typical face shape — swollen cheeks, overfilled lips, a raised chin, and smoothed-out wrinkles as if the face were stretched taut by invisible hooks, pulled tight like a canvas stretched forcefully over a skeleton. From that skeleton protrude hollow plastic orbs, like small spheres suspended in an unnatural stillness.

    I refuse to belong to this legion of mortals whose image assaults my eyes. In this bleak, vulgar, and culturally impoverished landscape, the decadent reflection of a society destined for extinction is starkly revealed through unaesthetic, amoral, and sordid standards.

    In the solitude of my senses, I donned the cloak of invisibility and ostracism, feeling as if I no longer belonged to that uncivil civilisation, rife with degradation and debased values. Deprived of all beauty, grandeur, and wisdom.

    The stench of plastic and silicone pervades this world, carried along by rivers of fillers and Botox. It feels as though a calamity has rained down upon this boundless and disheartening culture of aesthetic bleakness.

    This dictatorship of conformity and so-called perfection has moulded the minds of all those who lack a true individual spirit — those who choose to conceal their real identity, killing their soul and destroying the freedom to be unique, unaligned, and truly themselves.

    Those plastic-coated hearts scream and beg to be accepted, to be liked by those who lay their eyes upon such soulless, synthetic creatures.

    Synthetic hearts, flat minds — the decay of a society doomed to perish and disappear, its traces to be swept away like ordinary dust.
    Lisa

  • Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams of oblivion darkened my sleep.
    They were like palliatives for my searing pain,
    numbing my heart and soothing—
    If only for a moment—
    My spasms of fear.

    My disappointments had become like cobwebs woven inside my heart,
    darkening every joy, even the smallest.
    Ultimately, I had not chosen my fate,
    and I groped in the dark uncertainty,
    trying to understand where I was and who I was.

    The disdain and aloofness that oozed from the faces of mortals who had crossed my miserable existence
    had transformed me into a silent, sombre shadow
    whose image did not appear in any mirror.

    In my dreams of oblivion and madness, mediocre monsters that sought to tear me apart
    appeared menacingly in the realm I tried to protect and keep as mine.
    Their intrusion was truly an act of violence.
    Their intent to destroy me was the source of my fears.

    Ancient dusty clocks tolled the time, which always seemed the same.
    The dust of decay and sorrow fell upon me like a heavy rain,
    covering me completely and turning me into an invisible shell.

    Watchful and evanescent veils covered me, so as not to show me the harsh reality whose injustice and squalor could have tainted the integrity of my heart. And my attempt to awaken from that stupor mixed with despair was in vain.

    I was about to become oblivion.
    I was about to become my dreams.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.

    Perhaps I myself was an illusion,
    perhaps I had become a utopia or a chimaera.
    The devastating pain had transformed me
    and erased every trace of my mortality.
    Lisa

  • Mournful Shadows

    Mournful Shadows

    In the stillness of the night, the sky was stormy and overcrowded with lightning and thunder. Rain was pouring down, and the wind was impetuous.

    The exquisite scent of rainwater perfumed my small chamber from which I glimpsed the dark and stormy landscape.

    Chaos and order alternated in my bleak soul, full of grief. A piercing funereal pain had gripped my entire essence.

    Intrusive thoughts and faded hopes crowded my mind as if they were unwelcome intruders, not invited by me.

    Joy and darkness unfolded like buds in my soul, becoming thorny briars that wounded my heart and tore apart my being.

    The bright sun, dethroned in the sky by great threatening and dark clouds in a midsummer storm, was no longer on my visual horizon, making me reflect on my bleak and mortal fate, which condemned me to a sense of perpetual anguish.

    It was as if I had lost the ability to express all that I felt in my heart, the most hidden secrets and concealed truths that I had never been able to reveal to any mortal.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    Mournful shadows ruled over me.
    They were the ones who decided my path and my fate.
    They were invisible, yet present—and immensely powerful.
    I felt like a doll, a puppet, at the mercy of their whimsical desires and decisions.

    And so I perished,
    by the hand of my own fears,
    by the hand of my own funeral anguish,
    And I became a mournful shadow myself,
    No different from the others.
    Lisa

  • The Memories Of The Past

    The Memories Of The Past

    The memories of the past drag me into their swirling realm of despair.
    Alone, I find myself in a desolate place, a pit of the living dead—buried memories in the graveyard of my past. All I see are rows of lifeless trees.

    I pretend it is autumn, or perhaps winter, yet in truth this entire landscape is but a reflection of my dead and decaying soul.
    The darkness of the night does not frighten me—on the contrary, it is part of me. I am no longer who I once was; I have become a spirit of the night.

    The emptiness within me is filled with fears and regrets, and with all that I have lost unconditionally and irreversibly—things I shall never have again. And thus, the wreck of my existence: not only is it wretched, but also laden with pain.

    My cries of pain and my screams of despair are worth nothing. I have never been worth anything—only to wither my soul, already inscribed with daggers of disappointment and betrayals, inflicted by monstrous and mortally deplorable beings.

    All my crumpled desires and shattered dreams lie underground among the remnants of my memories and regrets. Left without emotions and left without words, I surrender to my nightmares, to my anguished obsessions that permeate my heart and tear it into a thousand pieces.

    My tormentors advance relentlessly, ready to tear me apart and destroy me in oblivion and forgetfulness. How much longer I must suffer, I do not know. I only know that cruel fate has entrusted me to the ship of the wretched and lost souls.

    The memories of my past haunt me insolently and give me no peace, and so I shall spend the eternity of my non-existence as a restless spirit.
    Lisa

  • In Desolation And Affliction

    In Desolation And Affliction

    In desolation and affliction, I was left viciously by my wicked fate
    Hopeless and deserted by all my dreams as if I were not worthy of bliss and ecstasy
    Delighted to let my senses abandon every type of wisdom
    I stopped to chase what couldn’t be mine forever
    Hence, all my crimson roses began to wither
    They become obsidian blossoms like the deepest night
    I could only sigh and weep surrounded by the skulls of my memories

    Ancient skulls and black roses all around me
    They became my guardian angels watching me closely
    They were the witnesses of my defeat and decline
    My virtues became my blemishes and I became a demon of myself
    I was a terrifying ghoul of the darkness, hunting dreams and love
    Nevertheless, I wouldn’t be able to catch dreams or love
    Being both of them out of reach for me who I was a simple creature of nightmares

    I even chased my own shadow in vain but I couldn’t find it
    Because I had no shadow and no soil
    My heart was filled with poison and decay
    There was no more space for love and delight
    The perpetual state of grief and misery transformed me into a spirit of dismay
    I embodied sorrow and every teardrop of mine was extinguished
    I had lost everything so dear to me
    I had lost everyone so loved by me
    I had lost myself in obsessions and wickedness

    I had to die several times in order to be born again and again
    How many times have I died?
    I never remembered it because each time my heart embraced death I lost my mind to an amnesia
    Thorns and brambles carved on my body arcane messages of wreckage and doom
    I have felt doomed all life long with no redemption or faded hope
    I was just a ghost of despair and nothing more
    In desolation and affliction, I’ve found my eternal respite and I surrendered to pursue all of my dreams and desires all at once.
    Elisabetta

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